Out of Memory and Time
by androidilenya
Summary: In which Caranthir and Saeros have a few conversations in the Halls of Mandos. A oneshot with the two most random characters ever, basically. A bit more light-hearted than usual. Written for B2MEM 2013.


**Written for B2MEM 2013 - which ends today! And I fulfilled almost all the prompts I wanted to do, which is good.**

**Features Saeros of The Children of Húrin and Caranthir, son of Fëanor. Two really random characters. Not sure what happened there.**

******Prompt from Day Twenty: "****For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos."**

**From ****The Silmarillion,** **Chapter Nine, 'Of the Flight of the Noldor'**

* * *

Sometimes he wondered how much of it was real- how much of it had ever been real. The last thing he truly remembered was slipping through the red haze of pain, laying with his arms around his older brother, letting the darkness reach up and claim him. After that, nothing but blurred, jumbled images, out of context and as intangible as dreams, fading as soon as he tried to look directly at them.

There was no denying that this place was peaceful. Much as he had always hated sitting still, hated letting the world go by (or maybe that had been someone else), there was something about this place that calmed him. It felt like deep, still water, undisturbed and untouched by the years- and he had known the name of it, long ago, though it would not come to him now. Oddly enough, this did not bother him as much as he thought it should have, would have back when he was someone else.

The other came without warning. One moment he was alone in the light that was not quite the same as the sunlight he remembered, and the next- not.

"Who are you?" There was something odd on the other elf's face as he looked up at him- recognition, perhaps, or maybe simply instinctive hostility that seemed so out of place here.

His lips parted and the name he thought he had forgotten came spilling out. "Morifinwë Carnistir, son of Fëanor." He could almost see the words darkening the very air he spoke them into, as though they sullied the purity of this place, and he lifted his chin in proud defiance. "No need to tell me your name, Dark Elf, as I really don't care."

The other elf bristled, a blotchy flush spreading across his cheeks. "I am Saeros of Doriath, and I will thank you to remember it, _kinslayer_."

Caranthir arched an eyebrow, a wolfish smirk crossing his face as the memories came crashing back. "So, that is how it is?" He snorted. "Time was an Elf like you wouldn't even dare to speak to one such as me, let alone use such an insulting tone of voice."

"Times have changed," Saeros replied cooly. "And all are equal in death."

"I wouldn't say so." He regarded the other elf, crossing his arms. "But seeing as there's no one else to talk to here..."

"What, will you deign to speak to one such as me, then? Should I feel honored?" Saeros folded his legs and sat beside him on the grass, brushing back his sleek black hair with one hand.

There was silence, then, and for how long it was hard to say. There didn't seem to be much _time_ in this place - or maybe there was all the time in the world. But Caranthir had never been very interested in such things - or had the patience to think about them. So he was (mostly) content with just sitting there in the light, ignoring the newcomer.

"Who are you, anyways?" he finally said, after it was clear that the other elf wasn't going to say anything.

"Saeros. Of Doriath."

"I heard your name. Doesn't tell me much about who you are, though." Caranthir turned his head just enough to give Saeros a scornful glance. "But I suppose all you Dark Elves are the same, anyways. Woefully ignorant bastards, all of you." There wasn't as much heat in his voice as there might have been, once - but his words were still sharp, and the other elf flushed at them.

"Excuse me?" Saeros sat up straight, frowning. "I will have you know, I have only _ever_ been among the most refined elves of Doriath, an _esteemed lord_-"

"Oh, I'm sure," Caranthir snorted. "As your kind measures it, perhaps. But you'd be nothing more than a ragged urchin compared to any of the Noldor, you know."

Saeros stood. "I will not stand for such insult, kinslayer," he hissed, fists clenched, entire body actually quivering with rage. Caranthir feigned a yawn and stretched, falling back onto the grass and letting his eyes drift half-shut, knowing that this would only enrage the other elf further. Which had been his point all along, of course.

"Then feel free to go talk to someone else."

"I think I shall do just that." Saeros drew himself up, trying to regain some semblance of composure, and swept away.

* * *

He came back, of course. Caranthir hadn't ever really doubted that. It wasn't as if there was much else to do here - and he'd finally remembered what 'here' was, at some point between Saeros' first and second visit. The Halls of Mandos. Resting place for slain elves, a stop on the way to reembodiment and life in Valinor. A place of reflection and atonement.

He wondered how long he would have to stay here before the blood was washed off his hands. Before his sins were forgiven.

_Forever, of course._

"Still here?" Saeros' voice came from behind him, and he didn't bother turning his head to look at the shorter elf.

"Where else would I be?"

"I thought - well, I guess there aren't many other places to be." The dark-haired elf took a few steps forward and stood, peering down at Caranthir. He seemed unwilling to sit - probably because standing, he was taller than the Noldo. Caranthir let him have that, for now. Eru knew Saeros had little enough of an advantage here as it was.

"Where did you run off to sulk?" he drawled, opening one eye and peering up at him.

"I was not sulking," Saeros snapped. "And where I went is none of your business, kinslayer."

"As you wish. I didn't really care, to tell the truth. Did you see anyone else?" He hadn't, the first few times he'd gone wandering off. Just forest, everywhere, like back in Beleriand - only these woods were devoid of all life, silent. There hadn't even been birds singing, or insects, only tall trees with dark bark and glossy leaves in the quiet gloom.

"No," his companion admitted, sighing and running a hand through his hair, glancing back at the trees. "I thought these were supposed to be halls. Not... a forest."

"And I thought I was alone here." Caranthir sighed. "Typical of them, to send in a dark elf like you to keep me company. But I suppose you'll be moving on soon."

"Why's that?"

"It's hardly as though you're a kinslayer, right? You won't need to wait long for re-embodiment." He looked up, grinning as though a sudden thought had struck him. "Unless there's something you're not telling me, Dark Elf.."

"How dare you?" Saeros had gone that blotchy red again. "I would _never_ sully my hands with my kinsman's blood as you did."

"If you say so." Caranthir pushed himself into a sitting position and stretched languidly. "Then again, you must have done _something_ pretty bad, to get stuck with a kinslayer like me." When Saeros didn't answer, the fourth son of Fëanor leaned in with a teasing smile on his face. "So what'd you do, Dark Elf?"

"My name's _Saeros_. And all I ever did was attempt to show a mortal his place. Tis hardly my fault I was killed for my trouble." He drew himself up, a proud smile on his face. "Such savage creatures these Second-born are, ever grasping for power, unmindful of the great gifts the Eldalië have bestowed on them in their generous mercy. They are unworthy of our respect."

The memory of a woman with a bloody sword, standing beside the bodies of her father and brother, flashed across Caranthir's mind, erasing the smile from his face. "If they're so terrible, how is it that you ended up here, dead at the hands of a mortal? And do not say that they are all without honor. I do not doubt that some have greater valor than a creeping _insect_ such as yourself could ever comprehend."

"Such insulting words from you, when you are the lowest of the low, a kinslayer and Oathtaker? You and your thrice-cursed brothers are all like your father, dirty traitors to the Valar-"

Caranthir shot to his feet and was on the elf in two steps, hands fastening around Saeros' throat. He drove him backwards into the grass, crushing him under his weight. "Say what you will of me, but do _not_ insult my father or brothers," he spat into Saeros' face, which was rapidly darkening. The elf battered helplessly at his face with his soft, refined hands, and Caranthir laughed, baring his teeth inches from the elf's eyes.

_There was blood on Tyelko's face, and I held him as we died - and this Dark Elf presumes to insult the sons of Fëanor-_

He let go and backed away. Saeros fell back, limp, breath rasping in and out of his bruised throat. Caranthir could see the rising marks, and knew that his fingerprints would adorn the elf's neck for the next few days. Something about that pleased him.

"You could've _killed_ me!" Saeros choked out, voice all disbelief and helpless fury.

"Again, you mean?" Caranthir chuckled, rocking back on his heels. "I doubt you can die again in the Halls of Mandos. Seems like that'd defeat the purpose, eh?"

Saeros levered himself into a seated position. "Your every action condemns you, kinslayer. You deserve to rot here until the End!"

"Shut up, Dark Elf."

"My name's Saeros."

"Do I look like I care?"

Saeros didn't seem to have an answer to that. He regarded Caranthir, massaging his throat, and finally said, "And here I was, thinking that the Second-born were the savages. Seems to me as though certain of the Eldalië are no more civilized than they."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Caranthir shrugged. "I've heard better. Come on, I'm sure you can come up with something at least a little more creative."

"You're a kinslayer, a traitor, a shame to the Eldar-"

"I know all the names they have for me, so you might as well save your breath, Dark Elf."

"My name-"

"I know your name. Shut up." And he wondered how much longer Saeros would let him snap at him before the other elf simply walked away. Not much longer, no doubt.

_Keep your temper,_ Maedhros would have said if he were here, giving Caranthir that stern, tired, older-brother look. _Control yourself, Carnistir._

_You're always messing things up every time you open your stupid mouth, so why don't you just keep it shut?_ Curufin would have drawled, a proud, superior glint in the grey eyes so like their father's.

Saeros frowned at him. As if he had read Caranthir's mind, he said, "You are not one for diplomacy, are you?"

"I'm very skilled at destroying my brothers' carefully planned negotiations," Caranthir replied, grinning wolfishly, hiding behind his defiant carelessness.

_I admit that I wished to lash out as much as you, but do you always have to say the first thing that comes to mind, Moryo?_ Maglor had sighed, looking disappointed, after Angrod had stormed out, taking his entourage with him. Caranthir had laughed then, too.

_What would Atar say?_ Celegorm had asked, shaking his head, as if their father had been any more renowned for his diplomatic skills, his ability to keep his formidable temper in check.

"Well." Saeros backed away, shaking his head. "I would appreciate it if you did not attempt to strangle me again. Being forced to the ground and killed once is plenty for me." He regarded Caranthir with a wary light in his eyes, as though expecting the Noldo to leap at him and rip his throat out, like some rabid dog.

"How _did_ you die, pray tell?" He made as if to move closer, and laughed when Saeros tripped over his own feet trying to get away.

"Ah - well, I may have insulted a certain mortal that the King of Doriath chose to take in-"

"King?" Caranthir laughed scornfully. "Elu Thingol is King of nothing but a few dank caves in a dim forest." He would know - he had died there. "But continue."

"As I was saying, Thingol - rather unwisely - took this son of Húrin under his wing for no apparent reason. And when the boy decided to go off into the woods with a warrior of Doriath known as Beleg for days on end-"

"Off in the woods doing what?" A wicked smile spread across Caranthir's face. "Sounds suspicious. Especially when you consider what certain other mortals and elves have done in those same woods." He sincerely doubted that this Túrin and Beleg were anything like Beren and Lúthien, but one never knew.

Saeros made a choked-off noise that might have been a laugh, then caught himself, frowning as though angry that a kinslayer had gotten him to smile. "What they were doing was none of my business, though there were _rumors_ of odd, ah - activities - at that time. But anyways, this Túrin son of Húrin came back to the King's halls after a few months away, and had the nerve to sit in my seat. Being the compassionate, reasonable person I am, rather than force him out, I offered him a comb to fix his quite unruly hair."

"You gave him. A comb." For a few seconds, all Caranthir could do was stare at Saeros in disbelief. Then the laughter came, real laughter that made him throw back his head, that echoed through the silent woods. "Oh, Eru, I almost wish I was there to see that. And then what?"

"He did not respond. So I did what any sane person would do and offered insult to the women of his country."

"Naturally." Caranthir raised an eyebrow, wondering why he was continuing to engage Saeros in conversation. "I have done much the same on occasion. Not the most useful diplomatic tool, but it is effective. I doubt that Túrin responded in such a civilized fashion?"

"He, ah - threw a drinking vessel at me." Saeros shrugged. "Typical mortals. Always responding to such things with brute force and little or no tact. And when I attempted to redress that wrong the next day, he - killed me."

From the way Saeros' eyes darted away at the end of that sentence, Caranthir gathered that there was a bit more to that particular part of the story. And despite himself, he was interested in what this dark elf had to say.

_It's only so I can mock him at the end. Yeah. That's why I'm doing this._

_...really._

"And so he just killed you? Randomly?" Caranthir laughed. "I doubt that, Dark Elf."

"My name is Saeros," the other elf sighed, shaking his head. "And there might have been a bit more, but really-"

Caranthir raised an eyebrow.

"N-nothing that's too important..." Saeros waved a hand in a gesture that was no doubt meant to be careless, but came across as more nervous. "I mean, he might have hunted me through the woods a bit-"

"And?" Caranthir pushed himself to his feet, towering over Saeros.

"Ah-" Saeros let out a noise halfway between a squeak and a whimper. "He might've stripped me first and then hunted me through the woods and I might've fallen off a cliff, okay?"

Caranthir doubled over, laughing. "You are officially the stupidest elf I have ever met," he managed to gasp out.

"Even more so than your brothers?" Saeros muttered, then blanched as though expecting Caranthir to attack him again for that.

"Yes, even more than my brothers. And my cousins, too - which is saying something. You're such an _idiot_, Saeros." Another gale of laughter assailed him, and this time the other elf joined in, hesitantly at first, quietly - as if afraid - and then louder, the sound mingling and rising in the light-filled air. He realized he was sitting next to a dark elf, an inferior, laughing like it didn't matter - and he knew he should care about that, but somehow he didn't.

_It's not like I despise him any less,_ he told himself, half-believing it._ This doesn't mean anything. It'll be over and we'll go back to hating each other the way we're supposed. It doesn't matter._

Caranthir kept on laughing anyways.


End file.
